


Archivist's Ears Only

by cher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex with Monsters, Xeno, Yuletide Treat, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Jon can't sleep; doors will get him.





	Archivist's Ears Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dussek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dussek/gifts).



> With thanks to rosefox for gracious beta assistance.

A tape, marked Archivist’s Ears Only, found in a locked desk drawer. 

— _click_ — 

“Thoughts of Jonathan Sims, on the subject of Michael and the nature of Powers. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s late, and I thought it might... help... to get some of these thoughts down. 

“There are doors everywhere. Tiny doors leading under buildings, into crawl spaces. Big doors, small doors, steel doors, intricately carved wooden doors, gates, arches, sliding cavity doors, trap doors, attic doors, _doors everywhere I look_. Fake ‘fairy’ doors painted on trees for children, only what if I were to touch one and it swung smoothly open, blackness yawning wide? It doesn’t seem impossible. 

“What doesn’t seem possible, these days?

“I’ve never actually heard anything to suggest that Michael can inhabit the spaces behind doors that already exist in the real world, but I’m not quite willing to stake my future on that supposition. Lack of evidence isn’t evidence. 

“So, now, doors... well, they make me nervous, don’t they. One more thing that makes me unfit company for people in general, because who the hell is scared of _doors_ , the abstract concept? People might understand a fear of a _specific_ door, or even of a _kind_ of door, but this? It’s just madness. 

“It’s even more inexplicable than most of the Powers, really, isn’t it. All the insects, sure, perfectly acceptable phobias. Heights, storms, fire, death, disease, dodgy circuses, unseen watchers, butchers and serial killers and your own body turning (ha!) against you—all explicable fears, all understandable. Not doors, though. Hi, I’m Jonathan Sims, and I’d really rather you went through the door before me. Yes, even if I go through it daily. Popular at parties, I’m sure. 

“Though... when I think about it, it’s not the Door Power, is it. It’s the elemental fear of being lost, with no hope of every being found again. Maybe that’s the key; all the Powers are very basic human fears made more than real. 

“But then, if that’s the case, surely we should have heard about a snake power? What person isn’t afraid of snakes, really?”

—pause— 

“I wonder if the Power I know as Michael manifested differently, before the Industrial Revolution. Maybe he opened up paths in the woods, a new turning on a familiar path that wasn’t there yesterday, for people to wander forever, trapped in the trees. Maybe he inhabited cave mouths, sending wayfarers falling endlessly under the earth. Maybe that’s where the old stories of Underhill come from; not faery, but Michael. 

“Is that what he is? The Lost? We’ve been using The Distortion to describe it, but every encounter I’ve heard has been doors and corridors and stairs. Wandering, alone, no idea where you are, no place to stop, no one to talk to and no hope of finding home? Maybe. 

“Maybe. It’s rational to fear that, the primordial fear of the wilderness... but it’s not rational to fear that I might walk through Georgie’s kitchen door and never return. Still, that’s why they’re called elemental fears, I suppose. Very little control over feeling them or not, and of all the Powers that’s the one that... well, that seems to—for want of a better word—to like me. Does that raise or lower my chances of being consumed by it, I wonder?”

—a long pause—

“He... it... doesn’t seem to like the Insects. I wonder if there’s a divide between the more concrete and the abstract concept powers.”

—a long pause—

“I wish I could sleep. I wish I could feel safe again. The Archive isn’t even a little safe, but I _felt_ safe there, or at least more than I do here. Maybe it’s about that other basic human drive toward safety in numbers, that despite... everything, I still want to be in proximity to other people who understand what we’re facing. 

“I mean. We did beat Jane Prentiss, didn’t we. Eventually. Even if it did take the help of one of the other Powers. Maybe more than one. 

“Do I just want to be able to say 'we' about something again? 

“Oh God, what if I’m right about its power, and what if loneliness is part of The Lost as well? What if Michael can hunt that way too? The spiritually or psychologically lost as well as the physically lost? 

“No. No, that’s probably not right. They are fairly literal, I think. I hope.”

**distortion**

“Hello, Archivist.”

—a shout— 

“Michael! How did you...! No, that’s a stupid question, isn’t it. Have you been _spying_ on me?”

—a weird giggle— “I’ve been... watching you, yes. Most of us have. Archivist is so _pretty_.”

“ _Pretty?!_ What does that mean?”

—a delighted hum— “So lovely to watch, all... shining and new. All un... touched. Mmm. Spider tried, and Spider failed. Stranger tried and Stranger failed. Hive tried and Hive failed. Even me! Even me, Archivist, even I could not bear to consume you. Consuming is what I do, you know.”

“Ah... yes. I suppose it is. What do you want, Michael?”

“You were talking about me, Archivist. Such lovely thoughts you have in your bed, to think about me so.”

“Um! Yes, I suppose I was. You were... listening?”

“Yeeeeess. Pretty Archivist, delicious thoughts. Wrong, wrong, not wrong.”

“I see. Would you... would you be willing to make a statement?”

—thin, high laughter— “I cannot explain myself to myself, Archivist. Certainly not to you. Why would I? Everything is so _interesting_.”

“No. I suppose not. Why are you here, then?”

“Such pretty thoughts, such pretty fears. Archivists are so clever, and so wrong. Always so wrong.”

“Very well... what do I have wrong, Michael?”

“Oh, everything. Human minds are so... limited. But you are not so wrong about my nature, Archivist. I make lost things. I find lost things. Archivist, tell me. When humans talk about losing things, what do they say?”

“I presume you mean in the abstract sense... I don’t know... losing one’s way, losing one’s senses, losing... themselves…”

—a rustle, as if of fabric but not quite— “Yeeeeeess, losing themselves. What does that mean to you, pretty, shining Archivist?”

—clearing of throat, shuffling as if backing away— “I suppose... I suppose people usually mean, to become lost in an experience. In a moment.”

“Lost in a moment, yeeeess, that’s right. And do they also say, to lose oneself in another? Have... you... ever lost yourself, Archivist?”

“No!” —a shout, scrape of shoes on floorboards— “No, I haven’t. I’m, well. Not really very good company for other humans, it turns out.”

“Lonely Archivist, lovely Archivist. Loves order, loves control. All the Archivists are like that. Want to know, want to see, want to understand. I understand _you_ , Archivist. Would you like to understand me?”

—a short, heavy pause— 

“Well... yes. I would like very much to understand you, Michael.”

“You can’t. You never could. But I would like... to let you try. Just... come a little closer...”

“What are you doing, Michael?”

“I want you to know what it is to lose yourself, Archivist. I think you crave it. I think you long to put down all your control and your distance and your clever thoughts. I won’t hurt you, Archivist. You’re too pretty. I’ll even let you go again.”

—an audible, shaky breath— “I’m not going through any doors, or up any stairs, or down any paths. No portals, no median zones. No going... wherever your doors go. Your stomach, you said.”

“Silly Archivist, pretty Archivist. I don’t want to _consume_ you. I told you. Not anymore. You will be perfectly safe.” —a long, high laugh— 

“Right... Right, then. I don’t leave the room, you let me go again. You don’t... hurt me. You do... understand how not to hurt me, don’t you?”

“Oh, Archivist. I have studied your kind for all the time that has ever been. I know how to hurt you. It follows that I know how _not_ to hurt you.”

—a tense silence— “You won’t change my body in any way, you won’t mark me, won’t make it so that I become the next Distortion?” 

“Such trust in my answers, Archivist. Such trust, even knowing what the Leitner people called me.”

“‘He who lies’, yes. I think they meant your power, though. You make our senses lie to us. I don’t think that you, yourself, lie. I don’t think you understand why you would want to.”

“You do understand! Archivist, you... draw me. I want to show you...” —movement of cloth, a gasp— 

“All right!” —shouted— “All right. Do you swear, by whatever is holy to you? No harm to me, as _I_ would define harm?”

—pleased humming— “No harm to you, I swear it on my own Power, pretty Archivist.”

“Then... then yes. Show me.”

—ten minutes of tape, where the only audible things are the sound of the Distortion, and a faint, continuous moaning from Sims, possibly pain, or possibly pleasure— 

—the tape shuts off— 

— _click_ —

—sounds of someone catching their breath— 

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, Archivist. 

“The Lost Power... Michael... entered the room I am using as an office tonight. The conversation between us is recorded and attached as Appendix 1. 

“The entity I will continue to refer to as Michael, for reasons that seemed remarkably like,” —noise of throat clearing— “physical attraction and desire, wished to share an experience with me.”

—a short pause— 

“Michael said he wished to allow me the chance to understand him, by undergoing the experience of ‘losing myself’ in him... in it.

“After extracting an oath from Michael that he would do me no harm—I wish to note for the record that at the time I experienced no hesitation in trusting Michael’s word, and indeed it does seem I have suffered no adverse effects from the experience, though I suppose time will tell—I consented to the experiment.

“I am struggling to put into words what occured. I can say it was a... pleasurable... experience, that necessitated,” —a pause, tinged with embarrassment— “a change of clothes before commencing recording of this statement.

“I, uh. I suppose it is most accurate to say that I... had sex with Michael. That seems an outlandish statement, particularly considering the physical characteristics of this particular entity. Michael is not... one of the more human-appearing Powers, in either of the two guises he has been observed in. I pass no judgement on the sexual proclivities of others, but I myself have never before felt drawn to non-human physiology. And yet the temptation of more knowledge, as well as Michael’s heady offer of putting down the burden of control for a short while, worked upon me. 

“I will not go into detail about the physical aspect of the experience, except to say that under the influence of Michael’s... mind, I suppose, for want of a better word... I did not find the strangeness of his skin or the... alien nature of his body repulsive. There was... anal penetration, though I am unable to say what limbs or appendages might have been involved. The... oh, I don’t have a better word for it! The... mind-meld... made Michael cognizant of my comfort and desires, and he met them.” —throat clearing— “He met them admirably, actually.”

—a pause— 

“I don’t yet feel able to put into words the impressions I received in return. I will, perhaps, attempt a further statement after my thoughts have had time to settle. 

“The experience has both heightened and somewhat abated my feelings of fear toward this particular Power. I no longer fear that Michael will trap me in his corridors—I believe his repeated statements that he does not wish to consume me—but I very much fear that the fascination I—or perhaps the title of Archivist—apparently holds for him has only been strengthened. I fear I will be seeing very much more of Michael.”

—a long pause, followed by a much quieter voice— 

“I fear that I will not mind.

“Statement ends.”


End file.
